


between the empty spaces (where you used to be)

by aescyra, Moony545



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Families of Choice, Friendship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Neglect, James Potter Lives, Kinda fluff?, Light Angst, Lily Evans Potter Dies, remus being a motherhen, sirius being sirius, sirius is a dogfather
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 09:23:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17764133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aescyra/pseuds/aescyra, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moony545/pseuds/Moony545
Summary: On that fateful night at Godric’s Hollow, Lily dies saving her son from the Dark Lord. James comes home to a silent house and a cooling corpse, and though they won the war, it feels like a hollow victory. He throws himself into Auror work, becoming the youngest promoted to Head Auror in decades.(Harry’s eyes are a brilliant green, the exact same shade as Lily’s, and sometimes, James can hardly bear to look at him.)Harry grows up almost entirely alone in a house that’s empty most of the time, with a dad that’s never home, knowing loneliness before he knows the meaning of the word. But Sirius and Remus have never been ones to sit on the sidelines, and despite it all, it’s like he has a second family right there with him. It’s enough.It has to be.





	between the empty spaces (where you used to be)

His mother had been a hero, his dad always says, sacrificing herself so that Harry would live, her death causing the backlash that destroyed Voldemort. The public calls him the _Boy-Who-Lived_ , the one who defeated the Dark Lord at age one, but he knows what really happened.

And he knows what he is in his dad’s eyes — a painful reminder of his mother, of her death. Even though his messy black hair and features are all his dad’s, his personality and the brilliant green of his eyes come from his mum.

He’s more Lily’s son than James’, and sometimes, Harry wonders why this is a bad thing. His mother was a _hero_ , brave, kind and strong, everything that he wants to be— has to be. His mother was a hero, but she died anyway.

Their house, built for a _family_ , is far too big for two people, especially when one is gone half the time ( _all the time,_ his mind whispers, but he stubbornly shoves the thought aside). All he has are books and flying and visits from Sirius and Remus, and they’re amazing, but he wishes he had more.

Harry’s tired of the way his dad can barely to look at him, eyes distant and sliding across him like he’s not even there. There are a lot of things he wants, but Harry wants his dad to _see_ him most of all. It’s just one thing, but he wonders if that’s too much to ask. Wishing and wanting never got him anywhere, though, (he thinks of long nights waiting for his dad to come home, the awkward silences and the quiet loneliness that slowly sank in when he wasn’t looking) so he picks up a book ( _Twenty-Seven Tips to Casting Magic Right)_ and reads.

(If he does well at Hogwarts… then maybe his dad would see him as his own person.)

 

* * *

 

If Lily lived things might’ve been different — she had always been the responsible one, who made sure everyone was okay and everything tended to. But she doesn’t live. She isn’t there to drag James away from his work, which he could be obsessive over once something got him going, and in the wake of her death, James throws himself into his Auror work with a new fervour.

He’s successful in almost all his missions, becomes the Head Auror at twenty-three, the youngest in decades, and other things _(other people)_ fall to the side. There’s always something to be done (Voldemort’s followers strike out after his supposed death, causing chaos everywhere— fledgling dark lords emerge from the woodworks, trying to fill the power vacuum— dark artifacts are suddenly more abundant, a result of his reign of terror—), people to protect, and it takes up all his time.

 _It’s for Lily, it’s for her_ , James thinks as he runs ragged trying to fix everything, rounding up the last of the death eaters, and somehow, Harry doesn’t cross his mind at all.

(All the little gestures, the way Harry tilts his head at him, giving him an innocent look, the way he smiles, it’s all Lily, all echoes of her personality. And Harry looks so much like Lily, with those brilliant green eyes the exact same shade as hers, that sometimes, James can hardly bear to look at him.)

Harry grows up in a house that’s silent and empty most of the time, reminders of could-have-beens and should-have-beens everywhere. One especially dark night, when James hasn’t said more than a few words to him in a week, hasn’t smiled at him in longer than that, he brushes his fingers against faded photographs of his mother, and wonders.

The woman — his _mother_ — has red hair like fire, green eyes the same shade as his, a cheerful smile, and he wants to have that, wants to feel warmth and the feeling of _homehomehome,_ and he wonders— _if you were here, Mom, do you think Dad would come home more?_

 

* * *

 

Harry sits at the dining room table and waits. He got his Hogwarts letter today, and his dad promised he would be home today _no matter what_. He _promised_. Getting his letter is something special, surely? It’s his _coming of age_ , his first step into the real world.

But it’s been an hour already, and… he brings his legs up onto the chair, curling into himself, resting his head on his knees. After a moment, he picks up the Hogwarts letter from its spot next his plate and rereads it, smoothing out the creases. The words are spelt out in black, all swooping loops and elegant cursive, and one day, he’ll be able to write like that.

He’ll go to Hogwarts and learn magic and loop his loops right, and he’ll be _happy_. He will.

But now… _It’s not fair_ , Harry thinks, feeling the now-familiar bitterness rise up inside him. _I just want one day. Just one day..._

He glances over the dinner again. The plates set out for two, the food he painstakingly cooked with the help of several cookbooks — both his and his dad’s favourite dishes. He even used the special silverware this time, the ones his dad said were for _special occasions_. Harry taps the table as he waits, shifting restlessly.

 _He’s not coming,_ a small voice whispers, dark and silken, _he forgot about you again, just like always._ Harry tries to ignore the thought, checking the clock instead. It’s late. It’s always like this every time; waiting and waiting, for what seems like forever.

 _No…_ He tips his head back to stare at the ceiling dully. _He promised_.

It’s dark, quiet. The clock is ticking. Harry closes his eyes and wonders wistfully what could have been. If his mom lived, then when he came back from flying outside, both his parents would be there, smiling at him, and his dad would look right at him and ruffle his hair, maybe give him a hug. And his home would be warm and lively, and they’d wish him good luck at Hogwarts, and they’d all eat dinner together, and he’d chatter on and tell them both about his day…

 

* * *

 

“Ministry of Magic!” Sirius shouts, throwing Floo powder into the fireplace and stepping in. A moment later he emerges from the communal Floo area in the Atrium, shaking off the constricting sensation through the ease of long practice. He makes a beeline for the elevator and enters it, pressing the button for the second floor — the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

A soft, cheery tune begins to play in the rickety elevator. Sirius winces, having already heard the tune many, _many_ times as an Auror. To be honest, he wishes they would get rid of it already. Sirius nods politely at the few people in the elevator with him, receiving quiet hellos and greetings in return. Those poor saps, still around at this time of night.

The elevator doors open with a creak and he exits, taking his time walking toward the Head Auror’s office. _James_ ’ office. Sirius isn’t exactly eager to converse with him, even if he isn’t _unwilling,_ per se. If that makes sense. He doesn’t make sense.

Sirius wonders when it all went wrong. Back in Hogwarts they were the Marauders, the best of friends with not a secret between them, brothers in all but blood. But it feels like after they graduated, everything fell apart. In one fell stroke, Peter turned traitor, Lily died, and their whole world seemed to crack apart. The rest of them — himself, Remus and James — clung tighter to what they had—have, but even now…

He knocks and opens the door, lingering in the entrance. He takes it in; James, working his way through a stack of paperwork. The _other_ stacks of paperwork on his desk. James looks busy. He probably _is_ busy, after his promotion to Head Auror, but that’s no excuse.

“Sirius?” James asks. “What are you doing here?”

Sirius hesitates. What can he even say? “I was worried,” he says finally, “You’ve been spending all your time here, James. You need sleep too.”

 _Go home_ , is what he means. _It’s… Don’t you remember what day it is?_

He loves James like a brother, but sometimes he can’t help the spark of resentment that flares up whenever James doesn’t go home, sleeps in the cot in his office and works overtime while Harry’s all alone in that huge house of theirs. The way he throws himself into magical theory and reads books well beyond his age in an effort to please James, to ignore the glaring emptiness of the house, is heart-wrenching. Sirius can’t help but see the tentative hope and the resulting _hurt_ in Harry’s eyes when he waits, day after day, only to be disappointed every time.

Sirius gets it, really. They were all busy after the war, what with the Death Eaters causing havoc after Voldemort finally kicking the bucket. James, newly promoted, was busier than most. But it’s been ten years already. He can’t forgive what James is doing to his son. Harry is a quiet child, easy to care for and easy to please, but sometimes he wonders how much of that is Harry’s real personality, and how much is a product of the circumstances.

James quirks a smile at him before sighing. “Yeah, you’re right, Padfoot. But all this—” he waves a hand at the paperwork, “—needs doing.”

Even so, Sirius feels — not for the first time — concerned as he sees the pronounced bags under James’ eyes. James is his best friend, damn it.

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Merlin, Prongs, just get an assistant and your problems would be solved. See? Easy.” He throws himself into the chair next to James and squints at the paperwork. “Is all this… stuff… really necessary, anyway? Just look at that.” He jabs a finger at the offending sheet of paper, “‘#217. Acquisition of three pocket mirrors. Dark artifacts suspected.’ That’s… just tell them to deal with it!”

It’s times like these when he’s unspeakably grateful he’s just a mundane Auror of the force. He’s still totally awesome, of course, that comes with being Sirius, but by Merlin is he glad that he isn’t too high up in the Ministry. Just look at the paperwork James has to deal with.

“I can’t just hire a random assistant, Sirius. They don’t have the clearance to look at this kind of stuff. And I can’t just tell them to _deal with it_. There’s protocol to be followed.” James responds absentmindedly, signing his signature at the bottom of a sheet with a flourish.

 _“Protocol to be followed?”_ He repeats incredulously, sending James a suspicious look. “That’s… such a responsible thing to say! Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?”

James turns to look at him, offended. “Hey, what are you talking about? Of course I can be responsible!”

That earns him a sceptical look, Sirius making a show of pointedly looking him up and down. “Mm, of course. Whatever you say, Prongs.”

“That’s—! Hey!” James splutters, indignant, “It’s not like you could do any better!”

Sirius adopts a mock-scornful look, lifting his head snobbily. “Of _course_ I can do better. I’m _Lord_ Black now, you hear? _Lord_. That _drips_ responsibility. Unlike _you_ — the pub and pink shorts ring a bell? Lordship clearly hasn’t been good for you.”

They’re both grinning at each other now, and Sirius counts that as a win; much better than the depressingly serious look James had before he arrived. Slipping into their banter is as easy as breathing after years of knowing each other for so long, and they trade a few more insults before falling into a contemplative silence.

He wants to mention Harry, but at the same time, it’s been so long since they had moments like these. For this one, perfect moment, he just wants to  _forget_.

“I’ve missed ya, James,” Sirius says after a moment. “You really need to take more breaks from work, hang out with me and Remus more.”

“Yeah, yeah, Padfoot. I get it. I’ll try to floo by your place more often, do what I can.”

He gets up, stretches.  “ _Anyway_ , James, just wanted to pop by and say hi while I was here. Don’t go home too late.”  

James waves his hand dismissively, giving Sirius an exasperated but fond look. “See you later, Sirius.”

Sirius makes an affirmative sound before leaving James’ office, giving him one last glance.  He’s still smiling when he arrives at Remus’ apartment in a _whoosh_ of sparks and soot, but it fades a little as he remembers why he visited James in the first place.

 _“Go home. What about Harry, all alone in that house of yours? He’s getting his Hogwarts letter today. Don’t you know what that means?”_ He imagines saying, _“He’s just turned eleven. It’s his birthday today, Merlin damn it.”_

But he’s already tried to get through to James, tried so many times it hurts, but he knows how it always goes. James gets defensive when Sirius implies he’s neglecting his son, and well… Sirius knows he’s not doing it _deliberately_. James makes an effort, sometimes, but nothing really changes. He _tries_ , but it’s not enough (it’s _not enough_ , a child needs more than this, Prongs, look at what you’re doing to him).

Merlin, he’s thinking too many depressing thoughts today. Sirius brushes off the ash clinging to his clothing and hangs up his coat, trying to think more cheerful thoughts.

“Remus? You home?” He calls, the sound echoing through the hallway. There’s a warm fire crackling in the fireplace and the candles are lit, so he supposes that’s a yes.

“Sirius? What are you doing here?” Remus calls.

Sirius hears a distant clanging and the sound of footsteps before Remus appears, ushering him into the living room.

“Moony, my friend! I haven’t seen you in _ages_!” Sirius exclaims dramatically, collapsing onto a nearby couch. Incidentally, it turns out to be the most comfortable couch, almost covered in cushions. Purely a coincidence, of course.

Remus shoots him a deadpan look before sitting down opposite him. “Sirius, it’s been _two days_.”

“Exactly! Two days, the horror!” Sirius continues, as if Remus has just confirmed his point, “My brother in all but blood, my friend of fifteen years and counting, my—”

“Alright, alright!” Remus sighs exasperatedly, “What do you need?”

Sirius adopts a wounded expression. “Moony, are you accusing me of something?” He says, as if the very idea is utterly unthinkable. However, the effect is somewhat ruined by the sparkle in his eyes.

“The only reason you come here to bother me is when you want something.” Remus says flatly, rolling his eyes.

Sirius grins, “Aw, you know me so well.” But as always, Moony knows him best, and the light-hearted mood fades as Sirius pauses, gathering his thoughts. He starts to speak but falls silent, not really knowing what to say.

Remus shifts to a more comfortable position before studying Sirius’ expression. “What’s bothering you?”

“ _Well_ …” Sirius draws out the word, unwilling to continue, “...it’s Harry.” There. He said it. That’s what’s bothering him. It’s been on his mind on and off for the past few years, but especially today. Today, Harry’s eleventh birthday, when he receives his Hogwarts letter, while James hasn’t even realised.

“Ah.” Remus says in sudden understanding. Sirius glances at him, wondering if that’s all he has to say. As far as he knows, Remus has never talked to James about it, but he knows that his friend has always silently disapproved of the way Harry is being treated. It’s one of the reasons they visit so often, just to make sure he’s doing okay.

“It’s just…” Sirius sighs, not wanting to articulate the exact issue. He averts his eyes from Remus’ penetrating gaze, instead studying the brown and red pattern of the carpet. Whenever he thinks about it, he always feels uneasy. "...You know." 

Not to bring up bad memories, but he could confidently say that his childhood was terrible. Growing up in a dark family wasn’t fun, and he knows how it is, how painfully empty and silent a house could seem when you’re alone.

James is as far from hostile and abusive as can be, but Sirius knows better than most that there’s more than one kind of pain, and neglect — deliberate or otherwise, can be just as painful. And Harry… deserves more than that.

Absorbed in his thoughts, he jerks at the sound of Remus’ voice.

“So what are we going to do about it?” Remus’ eyes meet his, oddly intense.

“Er— what?” He responds, feeling off-balance, “ _Do something_ about it? By Merlin, Moony, do you know how often I’ve tried to talk to James about it?” Suddenly, it all pours out— his frustration, anger, everything. He throws his arms up exasperatedly. “What’s the use? He never listens to me, and you know how darn good he is at steering away from topics he doesn’t want to talk about!”

Yeah, what a shock. Despite Prongs’ usually straightforward personality, he turned out to be surprisingly good at deflection. Sirius feels his frustration flare up again, now that he has someone to talk to. Remus has always been a good listener.

“And not just that! Harry’s treatment—the way he—I can’t—” Sirius bites back a curse, restlessly running a hand through his hair, “James is his _father_ , for Merlin’s sake, and he keeps avoiding him! Today’s Harry’s _birthday_ , and he doesn’t even seem to notice! What the hell am I supposed to do?”

He gives Remus a pleading look, repeats softer, “Gods, Remus, what do I do?”

Remus sighs and smiles, a little helplessly. “I, honestly, I don’t know either. It’s— not a good situation.”

Sirius snorts and mutters _you don’t say_ under his breath, calming down a fraction.

“Look, Sirius, we’re already doing all we can. If James is being… _James_ , then, well. We’ll just have to be there for Harry.” Despite the vague nature of Remus’ words, he can’t help but be comforted anyway.

“Right. You’re absolutely right, Moony, as always. I just have to...  be there.” Sirius nods decisively, newfound determination in his eyes. Then he pauses, part-nervous, part-inquiring. “So…”

“Well, what’re you waiting for?” Remus says, giving him a _look_ , “I’m assuming you have your present ready?”

“Of course I do!” Sirius replies, offended. “What kind of dogfather would I be if I forgot?” Even if he doesn’t have it _here_ , with him, at this precise moment, of course he still bought him one. Harry’s going to _love_ it.

“Well, I wouldn’t put it past you…”

Sirius winces, remembering the Great Birthday (Unbelievably Painful) Disaster of fifth year. He can still feel echoes of that punch to his face even now. “ _Moony_...”

Remus laughs, stands up and stretches. “Okay, let’s go.” He turns to head to his fireplace. “If James won’t do anything, we’ll just have to make up for it. C’mon, Padfoot, let’s go celebrate Harry’s birthday.”

And Sirius follows and doesn’t mention the quiet disapproval of James he hears. Really, Remus is right. What’s he been doing, moping around like this? It’s completely unbecoming of him. This is more like it.

 

* * *

 

When Sirius steps out of the Floo at James’ house, the first thing he notices is the silence. Then he looks around, and sees the whole house — or, at least the rooms nearby — are all dark. He can’t hear Harry at all.

Remus arrives a moment after him in a burst of flames, and stops next to him. They share a look, and start forwards.

“What do you think he’s doing?” Sirius asks in a hushed tone. The near-oppressive _quiet_ of the place causes him to step lightly and talk softly, not wanting to make too loud a sound.

Remus doesn’t respond, instead jerking his head toward the dining room. “Look, the lights are still on."  
  
Huh. Sirius looks, and the lights are indeed still on. “Alright, he’s gotta be there, then.”

He ducks past Remus towards the light, only to suddenly stop in the doorway, causing Remus to stop as well.

Harry’s fallen asleep at the dining room table, hugging his knees to his chest. Sirius sees the food (several of the dishes are James’ favourites, a part of him notices) and the empty place set out next to Harry, and his heart aches at the sight.

 _Merlin,_ James, how could you do this?

He glances at Remus, and sees the same _anger-sadness-regret_ reflected in his eyes.

Sirius can’t help but think that Lily would’ve never wanted this, her only child living in such an empty house, her husband barely at home. She would’ve kicked James’ ass six ways to Sunday for being such a moron, and _dragged_ them all together if she had to.

“Come on,” Remus whispers encouragingly, and steps into the room. He turns slightly, glancing at Sirius. _You wake him up, I’ll take care of the food_ , the look says.

Sirius huffs, but moves over to Harry nonetheless.

“Alright, kiddo, time to wake up,” He says, gently shaking him awake.

“Mm, _noo_ …” Harry mumbles, further curling into himself. This, in Sirius’ opinion, is _ridiculously_ cute. It’s not fair that James has such an adorable kid!

“Come on, Harry, get up,” He continues, at which point Harry finally seems to obey, blearily blinking at him.

“Hey, Sirius. Remus.” He says sleepily, not quite awake yet. Then he becomes more alert, seeming to really see them. “Is there something wrong? Is dad hurt?” He asks as he pushes back his chair, ready to stand up.

“Ah, don’t worry,” Sirius answers, waving his hand, “James just got a bit caught up at work. He’s not harmed or anything.”

Being an Auror wasn’t easy, after all, and just because the war ended didn’t mean the Death Eaters magically vanished. In the earlier years, part of the reason James went home less and less was because he wasn’t in any condition to do so.

Harry relaxes at that, but tilts his head curiously at them.

“It’s your eleventh birthday today, when you got your Hogwarts letter. This is your first step towards adulthood, towards the good ol’ Marauders legacy at Hogwarts!” Sirius exclaims, answering the unspoken question, “As your dogfather, it is my responsibility to make sure this day is appropriately celebrated!”

Harry smiles at that. “Well,” he says, “You really shouldn’t have; I really don’t need much.”

Sirius makes an appropriate horrified noise. “Leaving my godson’s birthday uncelebrated? That would be a tragedy of the highest order!” He grins unashamedly at Harry, “So, whaddya say? Movie night and ice-cream? And then we’ll give you your presents after!”

“Alright, alright! I get it,” Harry laughs, happier, “At your place?”

Ignoring Remus’ chiding glance for his over-the-top antics, “You guessed right,” he says exuberantly, “Let’s go!”

He pretends not to notice the way Harry slips his hand into his, and doesn’t mention the hurt and sadness in Harry’s last, lingering look at the food on the table.

Sirius tightens his grip on Harry’s hand, and makes a promise— _he’ll always have us, no matter what, and we’ll make it be enough—_ because it doesn’t matter if James doesn’t make time for his son. At the very least, Harry will always have him and Remus, and if they can be his second family, it’ll be enough.

It’ll be more than enough, Sirius thinks stubbornly, and when he locks eyes with Remus, he can see that Remus feels the same.

 

* * *

 

Two presents, four movies and an inordinate amount of ice-cream later, Harry falls asleep on Sirius’ couch, a half-eaten tub of ice-cream next to him. The television screen flickers and a quiet tune plays as the end credits roll.

They’ve undoubtedly made a mess of the living room, and Remus sighs as he stares at the Muggle drink cans, empty ice-cream containers and other bits and pieces scattered across the floor.

“Should we wake him?” Remus hears Sirius whisper. He’s sitting against the coach, legs sprawled out on the floor.

Waking Harry, sending him back to that cold, empty house… Remus winces. “Just let him sleep for now,” he replies quietly, standing up and draping a blanket over the boy’s shoulders, “Better here than…” He trails off, glancing at Sirius.

“Ah, yeah…” Sirius says, before he too falls silent.

Remus stands there for a moment, leaning on the couch and relishing the brief moment of peace before he heaves a sigh and briskly gets to work. “Well, now that Harry’s asleep, and this is over,” he raises an eyebrow at Sirius, “It’s time to _clean up_.”

“ _No_ …” Sirius moans, slumping sideways and looking like he’s trying to sink through the floor, “Do I have to?”

“Yes, Padfoot, you definitely have to. Now _come on_.”

Between the two of them, the room is cleaned in record-breaking time, despite Sirius’ moans and groans and general unproductivity. Remus smiles in satisfaction at the sight of a not _quite_ sparkling clean, but as close it’s going to get, room. Just one last thing…

He shifts Harry into a lying down position on the couch and tucks in the blanket around him. Then he leaves the room to steal another from Sirius’ room—

“Hey! What’re you doing, Moony? That’s _mine_...”

“Don’t you think Harry needs it more?”

“... _Fine._ ”

—before draping that over Harry as well.

He hears stifled laughter coming from Sirius. “Moony, you’re such a mother hen! Stop fussing over Harry, he’ll be fine.”

“Shut up.” Remus responds automatically, not even turning to look at him. Now, the lights. He examines the room — dimly lit. Not too bright, but not suffocatingly dark either. When Harry wakes up, hopefully he won’t panic. That’s good. “...Alright,” he says finally, “Done.”

“Great.” Sirius smiles, gaze softening when it lands on Harry. “Let’s take care of him, yeah?” There’s a wealth of meaning in his question, a hint of discontent that Remus can hear clear as day.

“Of course,” Remus agrees, because he doesn’t even need to ask. Harry is family, is _pack_ , so it’s a given that they’ll do their best. There’ll be more days like this, celebration and exuberant happiness and _belonging_ , and hopefully (definitely) they’ll knock some sense into James along the way.

**Author's Note:**

> wheee, finally finished this. also yes, I know, hogwarts letters don't come out on their 11th birthday but I was already too far along to change it, oops. anyway, leave kudos and comment if you liked! I'm also up for any suggestions or prompt ideas you may or may not have!


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